


Days like this (Security)

by knlalla



Series: quick fics [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 06:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15188411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: Some days just aren’t good ones.





	Days like this (Security)

It isn't fair, Dan thinks, that he has to live like this. And, really, it isn't fair that he doesn't understand _why_ he has to live like this, live with this disconnectedness, these days when nothing even matters and there isn't even a good reason, when he just can't be bothered to deal with anything. In spite of his thoughts, he’s lacking in proper indignation, he can hardly find it in him to be sufficiently annoyed. Not for the first time, he considers what it might be like-

And then it's gone, that tenuous grip he had on the tiny thread of _actually_ caring about something. Objectively, he knows he should get out of bed, have some water, maybe get some food. Have a shower. Go through the motions; he knows how to cope on days like this. It’s finding the motivation to do so that he always struggles with. That he sometimes depends on Phil for, even though he hates depending on Phil for anything; it makes him feel burdensome, a thing he knows isn't true - he can't count the number of times Phil has reminded him of this - but the thought intrudes and perseveres anyway. Especially on days like this.

He turns into his pillow, focusing on the way the fabric rubs against his cheek, the way the light from the window bounces off the wall across from his bed, diffuses in the room. 

“Dan?” Phil's voice sounds distant, even though Dan knows it's just coming from the door. He doesn't bother acknowledging it because he can already hear the soft padded footsteps of Phil walking into the room. Also, acknowledgment requires energy. He doesn’t have any of that today.

Dan doesn't need to be watching to know the moment Phil pauses, the air heavy with silence that says Phil's working out what to do, what kind of space Dan might be in, whether or not he should leave Dan alone. On days like today, Dan's not even sure himself, so he lets Phil deliberate and continues his staring contest with the off-white paint across from him. He thinks it must be winning, though he doesn't recall blinking. It just feels like a losing kind of day. 

A weight settles on the bed behind him, making the mattress sink and shift and tempt his body into turning around to face Phil. He doesn't, though, because that would require effort he doesn't have. Motivation that's ceased to exist for the time being. Energy that's gone on vacation, but he vaguely hopes will return soon, if hope is such a thing he can properly feel right now. The weight changes behind him, then the duvet lifts and a gust of cool air hits his bare back.

It's shortly replaced by a warm presence pressed up against him: Phil's chest, a feeling Dan would know anywhere. Arms wrap Dan's middle, pulling him closer.

Dan doesn't fight any of this, lacking the energy to do so but also lacking the desire - even on a bad day, he has a hard time _not_ appreciating Phil's presence. So long as he doesn't demand anything of Dan, doesn't try to start a conversation or force him to get up and _do things_. 

Dan exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding when Phil's shifting stops, when he settles against Dan's back and just rests there, entirely silent. Except it's Phil, so Dan isn't at all surprised when he feels a soft kiss between his shoulder blades, Phil's way of reminding Dan that he's here, if Dan wants to talk.

Some days, he does. Today isn't one of those days, though, so the silence settles around them like a blanket over their duvet, present and solid but not overwhelming. Instead of living in his head, Dan tries to focus on the soft breaths he can feel against the back of his neck, warm and slow and comforting. He likes this feeling - it's the closest to a proper emotion he can really get on days like this, something almost like contentedness, or maybe a dulled, muted version of happiness. Or maybe _security_ , the absolute bone-deep faith that Phil is here, doesn't want to leave, doesn't judge Dan or think any differently of him on days like this. Just understands. Respects. Shows his love a little differently, in the ways Dan needs it. 

And sure, these days usually suck and Dan feels shitty - assuming he feels anything at all - but Phil has a way of making them just a little more manageable.


End file.
